Chapter 10 – Ghostlight and Watchmen (continued)

  The room beneath the floor pulsed softly, quiet now that the Code had gone still.

  Tazien’s eyes widened. Ilyari grabbed his wrist and whispered low, “Get in bed. Now.”

  He nodded, peeled off from her, and sprinted to his room as silently as he could, diving beneath the blankets and feigning sleep.

  Ilyari dashed to the basin in the kitchen, yanked off her shirt, and wrapped herself in the old, thin towel they used for bathing. She turned on the water rune low and splashed her hands, then began slapping the water noisily against her skin and the sink. The echoing splash filled the quiet house.

  Then—

  A spearhead poked through the curtain of the kitchen window and pulled it back with a rough tug.

  Ilyari, still facing away, twisted dramatically just as the soldier’s helmeted face came into view.

  She shrieked, throwing her arms around herself and gasping, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

  The soldier froze—caught mid-peep, eyes wide in absolute panic.

  “I—! I didn’t—! I was checking for—!”

  Ilyari let loose with the most bone-rattling, glass-shattering, neighborhood-waking scream she could manage.

  Down the lane, dogs barked.

  From a few houses over, Brinna Claybourne’s door slammed open.

  Tazien burst into the kitchen from his room, pretend bleary-eyed and still rubbing fake sleep from his face—then immediately turned and bolted back out, yelling, “PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON, ILYARI!!!”

  The sound of several doors down the lane opening and lights sparking to life filled the air.

  Ilyari spun and stomped to the front door, still wrapped in the towel, unlocked and flung it open.

  The soldier who had peeked in was standing stiff and red-faced a piece of curtain still on hia spear, three of his squadmates just behind him.

  “YOU WERE SPYING ON ME!” Ilyari shrieked again, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes—some genuine, most dramatic. “I was taking a cooling bath, and you—you PERVERT!”

  A loud crack of a cane hitting stone echoed behind the soldiers who turned to see thier assailant Brinna Claybourne, her hair in a night braid, storming up the walk.

  “Oh you poor girl, they were peeking in your windows now?! What kind of soldier SPIES on a girl in the BATH?! I’ll be writing a formal protest! I’ll be gathering signatures!”

  From the side yard, boots pounded the ground as one of the other soldiers came jogging up, breath ragged and armor clanking as he rounded the corner. His eyes went wide the instant he saw the scene: Ilyari dripping wet and fuming, Brinna standing tall with her cane raised, and Jorran frozen in place—still gripping his spear, the damning scrap of curtain flapping from its tip like a guilty banner.

  The soldier—Mikkel—skidded to a halt, blinking in horror. His face flushed a deep red. “Wh—what’s happening here?!” he blurted, voice pitching awkwardly high.

  Brinna whipped toward him, eyes blazing. “YOUR comrade here,” she barked, jabbing her cane hard at Jorran’s spear, “was spying—on this poor girl! In her own HOME. While she was bathing!”

  Mikkel’s eyes shot to Jorran, then back to still dripping Ilyari, panic climbing fast up his neck. His helmet shifted crooked as he threw his hands up in defense. “No—no, ma’am! I—I wasn’t—!” He pointed behind him wildly, breath catching. “I was at the back of the house! I swear it! I didn’t see anything—I wasn’t even near the window!”

  His face turned beet red as he stepped back, looking desperately around for someone—anyone—to back him up. “It—it was Jorran! I’ve got a wife and four daughters at home, ma’am! I swear on my life, I would NEVER—!”

  Brinna’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Oh really?” she snapped, stepping closer. “So that curtain scrap just floated itself out the window and landed on his spear?”

  Mikkel shook his head furiously, boots scuffing the dirt as he kept his gaze firmly away from Ilyari. “I—I wasn’t even here when that happened!” he mumbled fast. “I was circling—I didn’t see a thing! Not a thing!”

  Before Brinna could respond, another set of boots pounded up the lane. A new figure strode in at full speed, frown deepening with every step. His uniform was sharper, his armor clipped tight to his chest, and the way the other soldiers snapped to attention made it clear.

  Captain Relkan.

  His sharp gaze swept the gathering in one hard look—landing on Ilyari, the furious crowd, and finally, the fluttering piece of curtain still hanging from Jorran’s spear.

  “Report,” Relkan barked, stepping in close, his voice like ice.

  Brinna didn’t wait a heartbeat. She stabbed her cane forward, her voice sharp and cutting. “Your man—Jorran—was peeping into that window while this girl was bathing!” she declared, her words loud enough for the whole lane to hear. “I caught him red-handed, curtain and all!”

  Relkan’s eyes flicked from Brinna to Jorran—whose face was now the color of a boiled beet, fingers fumbling uselessly at the piece of curtain as if yanking it off might erase everything.

  “Mikkel! Veck!” Relkan snapped, his gaze flicking to the two other soldiers now standing stiff and awkward.

  Mikkel immediately pointed both hands at Jorran, stepping well away from him. “Captain, I wasn’t involved! I was patrolling around back! I didn’t see anything—I swear! Stars above, I’ve got a wife and four daughters at home—I wouldn’t DARE risk something like this! Please don’t tell Gretta this. She’ll have my head on a pike by sunrise.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Veck—who’d only just arrived and was now stuck between Brinna’s glare and Jorran’s shame—winced and looked hard at the ground, saying nothing as his face turned a deeper shade of crimson by the second.

  Relkan’s eyes narrowed into slits. His lips pressed thin as his gaze dropped once again to that pitiful piece of curtain, still dangling traitorously from Jorran’s spear walked over and yanked it off.

  And in the thick, heavy silence that followed, that fluttering scrap of fabric said everything no one else could.

  “We—we’ll post up outside the fence lines. Orders. Strict boundary. No more house passes unless directed by command. Let’s go!”

  They vanished into the shadows before Brinna could demand anything else.

  Ilyari, heart still thumping in her chest, stared after them until the lane went quiet.

  A door creaked open behind her, and Tazien peeked out, rubbing his eyes. “That,” he said dryly, “was a lot of screaming for someone who wasn’t actually in the bath.”

  Ilyari huffed out a breath, smirking. “I’d say it worked.”

  Brinna, shaking her head with her braid swinging, followed them both inside. “Worked or not,” she muttered, stomping toward the stove, “those boys need to be marched back to their mothers and scrubbed clean with shame.”

  She set the old kettle on the burner with a practiced hand, flipping the rune to life beneath it. The faint hiss of heating water filled the room as she rooted around in the cupboards.

  “I brought some of my calming tea,” Brinna added over her shoulder. “You’ll both drink it and sleep properly tonight—no more dramatics.”

  Tazien flopped onto the couch with a theatrical grunt. “You don’t have to tell me twice. My ears are still ringing.”

  Brinna shot him a sharp look. “That’s your punishment for whatever nonsense you two cooked up.”

  She turned back to Ilyari, eyes narrowing slightly as she took her in—wet hair, towel, shirt now tugged back on. Her gaze lingered, sharp and knowing.

  “Hmph,” Brinna muttered, folding her arms. “No one in the history of bathing has ever washed with shorts on.”

  Ilyari froze, eyes flicking down to her legs, her cheeks flushing pink. The backs of her thighs and her shorts were bone dry.

  Tazien blinked, looking between them in confusion. “Wait—what—?”

  “Nothing,” Ilyari said quickly, straightening up and adjusting her towel a little higher. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Brinna arched a brow, lips twitching. “Mm-hmm. Just as I thought.”

  She shook her head, but there was no bite to her scolding. “You two are lucky the gods were smiling tonight. But I’ll say this once: no more mischief. Not tonight.”

  She poured the steaming tea into two chipped mugs, sliding them onto the table with a firm clink.

  “Drink up. Rest. And if I hear so much as a whisper out of this house before sunrise…” She left the threat hanging with a pointed look, then turned and made her way to the door.

  At the threshold, she paused, looking back with a fond huff. “Sharp-tongued girl. Mischief-maker boy. Stars help me, you two are going to be the death of me.”

  With that, she stepped out into the night, the door closing firmly behind her.

  Ilyari bolted it, then slumped against the wood, letting out a long sigh.

  Tazien slurped his tea loudly, leaning his head back. “Well. That was… a night.”

  “Yeah,” Ilyari breathed, peeling the towel off at last and tossing it over a chair. She crossed the room, grabbing a blanket from the shelf, and flopped down beside him.

  They sat in quiet for a beat, the warmth of the tea seeping into their bones.

  Then Tazien smirked. “So. Gotta ask—how mad were you really?”

  Ilyari grinned, eyes glinting. “Not that mad.”

  Tazien’s eyes narrowed. “I knew it. That scream was way too good.”

  She sipped her tea, hiding a smile. “Maybe… tweaked my vocal cords a bit. Boosted the resonance.”

  He sat up straight, eyes wide. “You what?!”

  She laughed softly, setting her mug down. “Minor modulation. Nothing crazy. But judging by their faces? Worth it.”

  Tazien let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “That wasn’t a scream. That was a war horn. I thought the gods were about to smite us all.”

  They both cracked up, laughter spilling out until their sides hurt, tension finally easing from their shoulders.

  When the room fell quiet again, Tazien yawned and stretched. “Okay… seriously. Bed. If Brinna catches us still awake, she’ll make us scrub the entire porch by dawn.”

  Ilyari nodded, eyes softening. “Yeah… bed.”

  They padded toward their rooms, the house falling quiet behind them, the warmth of the tea and their laughter lingering in the air.

  Tonight, at least… they were safe.

  By morning, the entire district knew that a soldier had “tried to peep on an innocent orphan girl.” By noon, the Emperor had received the report—and his reaction was far from pleased. He skimmed the document with growing disdain, eyes narrowing with every line. Another mess. Another embarrassment. His soldiers were supposed to be the sharpest blades of his empire, and yet they couldn’t seem to manage a simple surveillance order without turning it into a spectacle. He tossed the report onto the table with a sneer, muttering under his breath about fools and failures, questioning if the entire infantry had grown soft. “Maybe it’s time,” he said coldly to his advisor, “that the whole lot of them get retrained from the ground up—before they humiliate me further.”

  ?????????????

  The next morning, Brinna was back before sunrise, knocking briskly on the door with a basket of bread under one arm and a determined look on her face.

  “Up. Both of you,” she ordered the moment Ilyari cracked the door open, eyes still heavy with sleep. “We’ve got business to handle.”

  Tazien stumbled out of his room, hair sticking up in every direction. “What kind of business? Please don’t say scrubbing the porch.”

  Brinna gave him a look. “Better. Clothes.”

  That woke them both up properly.

  “Clothes?” Ilyari repeated, blinking. “For what?”

  Brinna set the basket down with a thump and pulled a folded parchment from her sleeve. “The Acceptance Ball,” she said sharply. “You think you’re going to show up to that place in rags? Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Tazien rubbed the back of his neck. “Brinna, no offense, but… how exactly are we affording that? We can’t even afford new boots right now.”

  Brinna snorted. “Oh, you’re not affording it. You’ll be working it off. Believe me.” She waved the parchment in the air, her braid swinging. “But I know just the tailor who’ll take you on.”

  Ilyari crossed her arms, skeptical. “Every tailor in the city turns their nose up at us, Brinna. They’d sooner have us arrested for stepping through the door.”

  Brinna’s eyes gleamed. “Exactly why I’m not sending you to just anyone.”

  She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a stub of a pencil, scrawling quickly onto the parchment. “Veylan,” she said, writing the name with practiced ease. “Veylan Eszueri. Lesser noble. Bit of an odd duck—foreign roots, doesn’t care much for the social ladder. Runs his own shop near the East Market.”

  She looked up, meeting their gazes. “He’s not a miracle worker, but he’s fair, and that’s better than anything else you’ll get around here. He’s taken in rough cases before—if anyone’s going to give you two a shot, it’s him.”

  Tazien frowned. “And if he doesn’t?”

  Brinna jabbed a finger at him. “Then you come right back here, and I’ll march over there myself and give him a piece of my mind.”

  Ilyari bit her lip, glancing at the parchment. “You really think he’ll help?”

  Brinna’s smile was tight but kind. “If he’s the same man I remember, yes. But you’ll definitely have to work off whatever he gives you. No freebies. Expect to be hauling, stitching, maybe even scrubbing floors.”

  Tazien groaned. “More scrubbing. Wonderful.”

  Brinna ignored him and finished scribbling the directions onto the parchment—carefully looping each letter in bold, clear strokes. At the bottom, she paused, then drew a strange little symbol: a looping flourish that looked almost like an incomplete knot.

  She caught Ilyari watching. “Old marker,” Brinna explained simply, folding the letter and sealing it with wax. “He’ll know it’s from me.”

  Ilyari opened her mouth to ask, but Brinna waved a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t ask questions you don’t need answers to.”

  She pressed the folded letter into Ilyari’s hand and straightened her apron. “Now. You leave immediately. You hear me? Veylan’s patient, but once noon hits, his shop’s a madhouse, and he won’t have time to breathe, let alone deal with you.”

  Tazien eyed the sky outside, still pale with early morning. “You sure about this, Brinna?”

  Brinna fixed him with a look that brooked no argument. “You want to show up at that ball looking like proper citizens or like you just crawled out of the gutter?”

  Tazien raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Point taken.”

  Brinna’s tone softened slightly as she fussed with Ilyari’s collar. “You two… you’re clever. But clever doesn’t always open doors. Sometimes, you need to look the part, too.”

  Ilyari nodded, gripping the letter tightly. “Thank you, Brinna. For everything.”

  Brinna sniffed and waved her off, already moving to gather her basket. “Don’t thank me until you see if he says yes.”

  She stopped at the door, looking back one last time. “And no more mischief, you hear me? One scandal per week is quite enough.”

  With that, she was gone, leaving the door swinging shut behind her.

  Tazien glanced down at the letter, then back at Ilyari. “Well… guess we’re going shopping?”

  Ilyari smirked. “Looks like it. Let’s just hope this Veylan guy is as generous as Brinna says.”

  Tazien grabbed his boots. “And if not?”

  Ilyari tucked the letter into her pocket with a grin. “Then Brinna gets to yell at someone new.”

  They shared a quick laugh, grabbed their things, and stepped out into the early morning air—heading straight toward whatever fate Veylan Eszueri had in store.

  slightly overpowered scream and a soldier who’ll be haunted by curtain scraps forever, things escalated fast... and hilariously.

  actually looking the part. Cinderella story for the both of them or Cinders and Ashes?

  What are your first impressions of Veylan (even though we haven’t met him yet)? Do you trust Brinna’s judgment? Drop your thoughts, theories, or favorite moments in the comments—I love hearing your take! ????